


This is the Waiting Room

by threewalls



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Twin Peaks
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood, Community: bloodyvalentine, Community: trope_bingo, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora waits to be awoken from the Red Room. (Once Upon a Time fusion/crossover with Twin Peaks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write about Aurora in Twin Peaks' Red Room ever since S2x6. 
> 
> For trope bingo: "character in distress" and for bloody bingo: "body fluids".

The curtains are burning.

They are not always burning. They do not always burn.

They burn now.

But now is not always now.

\---

Aurora pushes through the curtains, velvet so plush that it licks across the bare skin of her arm. She looks to her arm, to check that the red colour of the curtains has not marked her.

She stands at one end of a corridor. A statue stands at the other, a statue of a broken woman, jagged edges of stone where her arms might have once joined her shoulders, stretching in protection across her bare breasts.

The floor is paved in large square stones, a hazy grey, like sea-clouded glass. Each is identical with no breaks in the pattern. Her footsteps echo on the stones.

Aurora finds a gap in the curtain, and walks through it.

Somewhere, a woman is singing.

\---

Aurora sits in the chair with perfectly straight posture, her hands flat on the arms of the chair.

In another chair, at right angles to Aurora's own, there is a familiar yet alien woman with dark hair piled on top of her head and a pale blue dress accented with pink and shimmering beads and the curves of her own flesh. Aurora flinches from looking at the woman's breasts, because she shouldn't, because she wants to, but she can only slowly turn her neck.

The walls of the room are hung with deep red curtains, no windows, no doors. Behind the curtains stand the shadows of columns and arches.

"There are many worlds," says the woman in blue. "There are many ways between them."

Aurora watches a shadow move across the curtains, the shadow of a boy or perhaps of a young woman drifting across the screen of red curtains as if he, or she, were flying.

The room has two lamps, tall metal sconces. Aurora's shadow is a thin puddle beneath her feet, subsumed to the shadow of the couch upon which she sits. To cast such sharp shadows, something must be bright behind the curtains.

"You have been here before," says the woman in blue. She raps a ruler across Aurora's knuckles.

Fade to black.

\---

The corridor has a statue at one end. There is no statue at the other end.

All the curtains look the same. They are soft against Aurora's palms.

All the tiles look the same, and sound the same under her feet.

Aurora turns, fighting with the curtains at the end without a statue.

\---

The room is empty.

\---

The room is not empty.

There is a woman with dark hair in ringlets. She seems young. She is dressed in white, and she sits in the chair upon which Aurora had sat.

Aurora sits down beside the woman with the thin, dark blue woollen jacket, white blouse and short grey skirt. "It is good," Aurora hears herself say to the girl in white. "To see you again."

The words sound strange, as her mouth shapes different sounds than the sounds that Aurora hears. She presses her pashmina against her chest. The beat of Aurora's heart sounds strange to herself. Her heart is still beating.

The woman in blue reaches across to lay her hand upon the hand of the girl in white.

"Good," says the woman in blue. "Always wins."

Fade to black.

\---

In the corridor, no music plays.

\---

The room is empty.

Aurora looks down at her hands. They are red with blood.

She touches her chest, and discovers the red bloom across her pashmina. Dark blood, heart's blood. She turns to find a trail of blood that stretches behind her, back to the place where the curtains part.

In the corridor, Aurora follows the streaks of her own blood back across the identical square paving stones and her footsteps are the only sound.

\---

The room is not empty.

"Philip," Aurora says.

His body lies upon the tiles, dark leather, dull chain metal. His left hand, his left arm, is completely charred to a ruin. Her own body lies beside him, collapsed as if from a faint but with garments sodden with blood to the waist.

Aurora touches her chest. Her hands and her clothes are still wet with her own blood.

She can only say his name. She cannot move. The deep red velvet curtains lick at her back.

The body in armour beside Aurora's own doppelgänger rises, limbs jerking, flailing, and Aurora sees as it stands that it is not Philip. It is a woman with long dark hair and golden skin. She is beautiful. There is blood on her bare neck, blood that drips from her lips.

\---

It is dark and it is not. Light splits the darkness. Darkness overtakes the light.

Aurora is screaming.

But we cannot see which one.

\---

The woman in blue flutters in front of Aurora. She is a fairy, no bigger than Aurora's forearm. (Than Philip's.)

The blue fairy touches her wand to the hole in Aurora's chest, and all the blood begins to flow inwards from the gaping wound, slowly and then accelerating, concentrating her pain to that small space beneath her ribs.

The blue fairy strokes the tip of her wand along the column of Aurora's neck.

Aurora's body convulses, the sharpness scraping her throat. Aurora retches great splashes of blood onto the evenly spaced tiles of the floor.

It becomes a sort of corn potage, yellow and viscous and glistening, even as Aurora tastes the blood inside her mouth.

It disappears.

The blue fairy licks her lips.

\---

Aurora sits in the chair with perfectly straight posture, her hands flat on the arms of the chair.

In another chair, at right angles to Aurora's own, there is a woman with dark hair piled on top of her head and a pale blue dress accented with pink and shimmering beads and the curves of her own flesh. 

The walls of the room are hung with deep red curtains, no windows, no doors.

"You have been here before," says the woman in blue. She raps a ruler across Aurora's knuckles.

"Fire," she says. "Walk with me."

\---

The curtains are burning.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also comment/subscribe at my [LJ](http://threewalls.livejournal.com/369813.html) or my [DW](http://threewalls.dreamwidth.org/243759.html).


End file.
